


Taco Tuesday

by Churbooseanon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, M/M, Melancholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers a lot of things. Remembers Taco Tuesdays and being happy and in love with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taco Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> For Necromorphisis of Tumblr, as part of my 1000 follower giveaway.

There are a lot of things in this world that don’t make sense. There’s the war against the Covenant races, that someone started at some point and really, York found he didn’t know or remember or care how or why it started. There was the very idea that multiple alien races could just work together like that, most of them subservient to another race like that was the most common thing ever, not seeming to care that a system like that just screamed oppression, inequality, and all around bad stuff. There was the fact that Sangheili were referred to as ‘gatorheads’ by some members in his old units, and where in the galaxy had that description ever come from?

Then there was the greatest source of confusion in the whole of time and space: how the hell do you have a regular Taco Tuesday on a spaceship in the middle of nowhere in space, when they hadn’t been planetside in well over three months to get vegetables and was that really guacamole? There was totally no way that was guacamole. Seriously, where the fuck in the last three months had they found still more avocados? 

“You know,” North says, and as York looks across the metal table they had claimed as their own he can see amusement on his lover’s face, “green things are healthy for you.”

“But where does it come from?” York whines, carefully prodding the mass of green on his tray. “More than that, what is it? Is it a sauce? A dressing? A garnish? Where do avocados come from? Do they grow on trees or on bushes or are they like…”

“Dear god,” Wash groans from beside York, and his armored knee bumps against York’s under the table. “We’re not really having a conversation about this, are we?”

“And for that matter,” York continues as if no one had dared speak up and interrupt his tirade, “where does the meat even come from? When we land on a planet does the Director just supply us with tons and tons of this excess meat or something?”

“You know our supplies stretch further than a simple resupply makes it seem,” Wash answers. “Only us and the powers that be stay awake in slip space, so that saves a lot on crew rations.”

“York,” North chides quietly, amusement reaching his voice now, “if you keep this up I’m going to have to take away you guac.”

“No!” York shouts, covering the mount of green with his hands. “It’s bad enough Maine took all the lettuce and tomatoes to make himself a weird shredded salad, again, without you guys stealing my sauce. Dressing. Garnish. Whatever.”

“I’m starting to think he doesn’t like tacos,” Wash chuckles, shaking his head. Of course, to add insult to injury like his younger partner always seemed to do, a quick hand shot out to steal some of York’s cheese. 

“Oh my god you’re both terrible people,” York whines, scooting further down the table, dragging his tray with him. “My poor lunch, under attack.”

“It’s dinner,” North corrects, sliding right back to a position across from York.

“Lunch for me,” York smiles. 

“Because someone didn’t want to get up this morning,” Wash sighs. 

York smiles in triumph even as Wash scoots right back up to him, their legs pressed together. Okay, so maybe leg armor. It was so rare they got anything that could truly be called physical contact or intimacy at a meal like this, while they’re still fully geared, but York takes the small victories. Out here they can sometimes be all you get. Besides, Wash is like a fucking furnace, so even this far away it’s like York can feel the heat radiating off of him, and he isn’t going to listen to any stupid comment about the undersuit retaining heat and thus preventing such a thing.

“If only someone had thought to wake me up,” York teases, his voice a low singsong. 

“If memories serves he tried about four times.”

York looks across the table, pouting at North. It’s an expression he can’t keep up for long in the face of the gentle warmth of his lover. With a sigh he pushes his tray across and North takes the guacamole in one quick scoop. The joy on his face at the treat, which he promptly smears over his prepared taco. And the smile that happens after North’s first bite, well, that’s perfect. He looks so happy. 

 

They all look happy, York thinks. The moment is perfect, North gleeful over his meal, Wash chomping down like nothing could ever go wrong. It’s perfect and it will never end. His peace cannot be taken away. 

Nothing can ever pull them apart from each other. Nothing take the joy of waking together, the laughter of their days spent in training, and nothing touch the pleasure of their nights together, warm bodies pressed together as they work each other to a fever pitch. 

There are a lot of things in this world that don’t make sense. Like waking up alone, cold and tired. There’s no amount of sleep that makes this easier, makes the emptiness of what passes for a bed, finding no one at his side. No Wash burrowing into his chest or North laughing beside him. York closes his eyes and wraps his arms around the spare pillow, trying not to cry. 

Thing is, he can’t remember how it all happened. How he got to this point, making his life breaking into small stores. Somewhere out there, his lovers are alive. They just…

They never came looking. Strangely enough, that was what York had expected. Almost still expects it, as fruitless as it really is. The last time he saw Wash was after Epsilon was implanted. When the ship crashed he’d still been dazed, and it had been Delta to push his body on, to get him out despite the pain and the shock. North…

North had stayed behind, said they’d need help from inside. York had accepted it, Delta had pointed out the logic, Texas had seemed relieved. From what he heard the man had gotten into a serious fight with his twin. Didn’t seem like it to York. He’d seen North three months after the wreck. It had been in passing, of course, but he’d seen Theo. Even ten years from now he’d know those eyes and that hair and the shape of his nose and jaw and the warmth of their smile. 

Their eyes had met across a crowded cafe, and York had caught a glimpse of South’s purple tipped hair by the counter. Neither he nor they had made a move to meet, and when they had gone, York hadn’t even followed. 

His bed lays empty, save for him, and the world around him is so cold. 

Delta prods at the back of his mind. Urges him up, urges him to keep living. 

What is he living for? 

The thought sets Delta to work in the back of his head. The AI gets York to his feet, pushes him forward. York surrenders his hand to the strange warmth and tingle that comes with Delta taking charge. There’s a strange disconnect in his mind when Delta takes over. It’s like he floats down to be cradled in the warmth of the AI, his body tending instead to it’s own needs. A warmth that wraps around him, consumes him, becomes him. 

It makes him think of North’s smile. Of Wash’s kisses down his neck. Of the peace and wonder of those days that never seemed to end and which had stopped so many years ago. 

Delta lets go when York is at the door of their hidey-hole, and York gets what that means. Time to get up and get moving, and be a person again. A person who walks through lives with shadows over his shoulders and a light in the back of his head and no real understanding of what the hell is happening with his life. 

Even as his hand reaches for the knob there is a knocking. Light, tentative, and high on the door. York flinches at it, the sound too familiar, too much like secret meetings in their rooms after hours and the frantic press of lips and hands. More than that, it’s unnerving because no one really knows or cares about him. For someone to be knocking… It’s not like door to door salesman are that common anymore. And who has time for the personal touch of at-your-door conversations in the aftermath of what could have been a genocidal war? 

Still he lets his hand settle onto the knob and twist. Still he pushes the door open and hopes against hope that maybe, just maybe, the knock isn’t a coincidence. Still he doesn’t expect to open the door and be staring up into the most beautiful, pale blue eyes he had ever known, nor to find that warm smile aimed down at him. And he really doesn’t expect to find another face beside the one he remembers so well, Wash sleeping with his head over North’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around the tall man’s neck, his legs up around his waist with North’s arms tucked under his legs in a sleepy piggyback that York is well familiar with. 

D, he asks, what are the chances that I’ve finally lost it?

He feels the calculations starting in the back of his mind as a bright, purple tinted light manifests over North’s other shoulder. Theta waits there for a moment, his foot kicking shyly at empty air. 

“I know you’re both probably a bit overwhelmed, but North’s back is getting sore,” the sweet little AI announces. 

York doesn’t even process that he and North have been staring at each other since the door opened until that comment. His eyes tear away and while he wants to move away from the door and let them in, wants them immediately and easily back into his life, he doesn’t know how to accept this sudden windfall at his door. His lovers, delivered pre-cuddled together and clearly looking for him. How is this even possible? 

“You’re real?” York asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” North agrees. “Problem is, I suppose, that I’m too real and Theta’s right, I’m hurting.”

There actually is a note of pain, and a matching one of fatigue in North’s voice, and it’s just by habit that York finally steps aside. They always went to each other when they were hurt. York used to claim he did it because he liked to have them kiss his boo-boos better, but life isn’t that simple, is it? Still, he’s moved, and with that the taller man quickly moves through the door. He pauses just inside and looks around, and York is suddenly aware of how pathetic his living space is. Well, living space would imply that he has some right to be here, wouldn’t it? No, York is just squatting in an abandoned factory that Delta dived into the net to wipe all ownership records of. Mostly because the owner is long since dead to the war. Someday, someone will come for it, but Delta will warn him. Until then it’s a place furnished by empty crates and boards, with a large mattress (clean), thrown on the floor. 

The mattress, York can’t help but remember as North moves to stretch their smaller lover out on it, wasn’t even York’s idea. It had just shown up one day, delivered to his fucking door. Delta’s doing, of course. Nothing here made this a home. 

Except for North, smiling in relief as he sits on the edge of the mattress, legs extended before him, slowly pulling off piece after piece of dark purple armor. And Wash, curled up on his side like he had been the last time York had seen him. So many years. So many memories. And all of it suddenly coming to life in front of him like all the pain and misery had never happened. 

“I don’t understand,” he finally admits, weakly, as he closes the door. “North what’s going on?”

North smiles, unhooking his helmet from the place it hung at his side, and when he does that York feels warm. That smile lures him forward, and when North raises his hands, York takes them and lets himself be pulled down to sit next to the elder of his former lovers. 

“I’m sorry it took so long,” North whispers, a gloved hand coming up to brush through York’s hair. “I had to find him first. It wasn’t easy, but I wasn’t coming back to you without him at our sides.”

“What happened? How did you find him? How did you find me?” York presses, relaxing into an arm that wraps around his waist. 

“None of that matters right at this second,” North answers again, this time pressing a kiss into York’s temple. “What matters is that we’re finally here, and we’re not going anywhere.”

“Except…” Theta’s little voice prompts somewhere by York but he doesn’t know where. His attention is too caught up in his head being brought down to rest on North’s shoulder. 

“Except to the store,” North finishes. “Our trip has been long, and we need to eat something that isn’t an MRE. And from the looks of it, Delta is letting you get away with a lot of shit here.”

“I would not say I allow him to get away with inappropriate behavior. Just that my best efforts to push him toward more appropriate ones have met with severe resistance,” Delta’s voice joins the mix. 

“Either way, it’s Tuesday,” North observes, amusement in his voice. “And I’m going to go out and get everything we need for tacos. Even guac.”

It’s so normal, it’s so routine, it’s so far in the past and thus so ridiculous that York can’t help but laugh. And truth be told, he doesn’t know what reason he’d ever have to hold back.


End file.
